


Rogue

by DoraTLG



Series: Tea Made of Fresh Herbs [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Dom!Bond, Hair Pulling, Kneeling, M/M, Prague, Sub!Q, Subspace, and some Czech history being twisted to suit my agenda, bullet wound can't stop Queen's biggest disaster, perfect team 00Q, rogue agent and his quartermaster, trust no one but each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-04 23:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15157568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoraTLG/pseuds/DoraTLG
Summary: Leaving MI6 was the best decision James and Q ever made. Their life on the edge of the system is everything they dreamed of - they do more good than MI6 ever cared to, and their relationship has strengthened into an unbreakable bond.Until MI6 finds them again...





	Rogue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit on a roll so I'm gonna write another BDSM fic (let's not pretend like I'm capable of anything else), so I might be back in a few days with a nice short story full of shibari and an asexual Q! Where do I get these ideas...

“Take cover, take cover, take cover!” Quinn’s voice echoed in the large room but in his head, he was shouting into a noise-filled battle field – his ears were taking in all the sounds carrying hundreds of miles through the high grade headphones on his ears, and he might as well be silent for all  good it did.

On the other end of the connection, James completely ignored him as he stood tall and proud with his gun hand outstretched and firing right and left. Sometimes Quinn thought that his partner didn’t just have a death wish but was constantly attempting suicide and the universe just never made it happen.

A loud shot was heard on the audio, louder than the rest of the gunfire, and Bond made a small pained sound and retaliated by emptying his magazine, then running to crouch behind an old Skoda. Quinn noticed a slight limp by the way his body cam shook with each step.

“This would never have happened if you took bloody cover like I told you to!” Quinn raged while furiously typing on one of his three keyboards. “Did you take a shot?”

“Now, Q, you wouldn’t expect me to crouch behind an old car like a coward with three gunmen shooting at me, now would you?” James’ voice would be trying to make light of the situation as always if not for the pained tone lacing through it.

“But you _are_ crouching behind a car while three gunmen are shooting at you, and now you have a shot wound!” Quinn argued. “You are incredibly bad at this, 007,” he continued. “I am endlessly fascinated by your ability to survive while being shite at strategizing.”

“I would be hurt if I weren’t busy being hurt,” James replied, his teeth gritting, and Quinn realized it was getting bad. His tone became serious.

“There’s a first aid kit heading your way,” he said. “It contains three guns and a grenade. Make good use of it, will you?”

James didn’t respond. Quinn’s heart skipped a beat and then started hammering in his chest like a trapped hummingbird.

The little drone flew over the gunmen’s heads and towards where James was hiding, and Quinn was praying for it not to be gunned down, as the grenade in it might not react well to that and explode in James’ proximity. Fortunately, the drone was too scary to shoot down, and it landed safely next to James’ hip.

When James reached for it, Quinn could see his hands on the feed, and they were shaking. He still managed to take out the guns and the grenade, on which he pulled the safety, waited a few seconds, and threw it in the direction of the gunmen.

The explosion shook the car and threw James to the ground, but he was quick to recover, immediately checking the magazines in the guns and waiting to be sure that the three were dead and that he didn’t have to use the guns.

When nothing happened for a long while, he put the guns down and – finally – started taking care of the wound, which was bleeding rapidly and was now making a pool around Bond’s leg. Quinn refused to truly exhale until he knew James was safe, and right now there was a real chance that the agent could die of blood loss.

Bond tore his soaked trousers to reveal an ugly shot wound through his thigh. It was oozing blood still, more than Quinn ever saw James bleed.

 

“The police are coming,” Quinn said absentmindedly while James cleaned and dressed his wound.

“How quick of them,” James growled and tore the bandage with his teeth.

“Well, the Czech police isn’t known for being very good,” Quinn replied. “Eve is almost there.”

When they left MI6, they made several important decisions – firstly, they would operate alone, but keep using their MI6 issued covers in case someone hacked their feed or audio and wanted to go after them. Secondly, they would do the jobs MI6 deemed not important, or took way too long to process through their countless departments, which sometimes meant the situations got resolved with bloodshed. Most of the time, those were the kinds of missions that would save lives but gain no political benefit, and therefore weren’t as important in the eyes of British bureaucrats. Quinn and James made those their priority.

Thirdly, when Eve approached them, they decided that they would not just need to work with her, but need to trust and forgive her.

It made Quinn especially happy.

Eve’s Volvo skidded by the parked, completely bullet riddled car that James was hiding behind, and she jumped out and ran towards him, landing on her knees in a way only Eve knew how to, and taking the blond man’s whole body weight onto her as she made him hug her shoulders, she dragged him into the car’s back seat and drove off in the direction of Petrin, a hill in the centre of the city.

“We are coming, Q,” she said as she steered the car through the historic streets.

“I know,” he said, his patience running thin, and then added, at the same time as James growled it from the back seat: “Slow down.”

She did, and managed to pass for a random car as she turned into a busier street, even as the police cars started arriving, swishing past her in a rush of colour and sound.

Fifteen minutes later, she was pulling into their hidden driveway.

They made camp in the heart of the hill, in a little house that looked like a ruin from afar but which has been a base of various military forces ever since it was built in the fourteenth century as a part of the Hungry Wall. The wall was believed to be a completely useless project that was only intended to give jobs to the poor during the famine, but no king or government were ever so stupid that they would do something out of the goodness of their hearts. The wall was a military tactic and was built by ordinary people for a low wage. Very clever, if you asked Quinn.

When Eve half carried the former agent in, Quinn was already clearing the biggest table in the room, making room for Bond to sprawl his dead weight as he did in the next few seconds. Eve, panting, straightened up and audibly cracked her back.

“I’m fine, Quinn,” James said when Quinn immediately started searching his body for more injuries, stopping to peel away the sloppily applied bondages, trying not to disrupt the wound too much and cause further bleeding.

“That’s for me to decide,” Quinn replied resolutely, not pausing in his check up.

“He really is fine, Quinn,” Eve said. “He’s stabilized.”

Quinn just glared at her until she raised her hands in submission and left to drink some water.

“You should have listened,” Quinn said angrily to Bond. “Why don’t you ever listen?”

“I always listen,” James said, his tongue slurring slightly. “I just elect not to get too distracted.”

“Are you saying you can’t process two different ideas at the same time?” Quinn snapped back with just a bit of his usual humour. “Mine and yours?”

“Basically,” James nodded. “I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed.”

“Well, you definitely are a tool,” Quinn said, finally content with what his check up revealed. “You will live. This time. But you need to eat and sleep.”

James nodded again, half way asleep already.

“Eve?” Quinn called after the woman. “Could you please help me carry him to the bed?”

***

They were in Prague for four days.

At first it was a simple mission – some very bad, not good at all people involved in human trafficking were tracked by Quinn’s face recognition system in the area and he was reasonably sure they were after children and young women. When they arrived, it turned out they were actually a part of a summit of mafias from the whole of Europe, and they needed to double on their efforts if they wanted to get out of this not only victorious, but alive. Now, the infamous casino where the mafia was holding the meeting was blown to pieces, seventy three out of eighty members were killed, and James was sitting on a chair next to Quinn’s computers, injured leg raised and propped on an ottoman, reading a car magazine in German.

Well, _squinting_ at a car magazine in German.

“You need glasses,” Quinn said absentmindedly while typing away on one of the laptops.

“I don’t need glasses,” James growled in annoyance.

“You do and you know it,” Quinn smirked when all James did was growl some more.

After a few more minutes of pretending he can read just fine, thank you very much, James threw the magazine down and folded his arms. He took more painkillers than hospitals normally gave out at once four hours ago, and was now probably in what he called a ‘mild inconvenience’ instead of what it really was – a shitload of pain.  He was also bored out of his mind.

“Why don’t you just go to sleep?” Quinn asked, still not paying him much attention. “Like any other normal person who’d get shot?”

“Normal people don’t get shot, Quinn,” James pointed out. “I’m still high on adrenaline.”

“Then go eat something,” Quinn suggested. “One of those sausages they have here with their beer and you’ll be sleeping that off for days.”

“I have a better idea,” James leaned against the table like a little child pestering his mother and reached for Quinn. “Why don’t we head down to the city together? We can eat in a nice restaurant, I’ll drive us around the historic centre, then you can ease my pain in the car…”

The corner of Quinn’s mouth curled into an amused smile. “You need sex rehab, you know that?” but he saved his work and then let James tug him in between his outstretched legs, careful not to touch the injured one. He put his hands on the older man’s face, his long fingers reaching into his short blond hair.

“Why would I need to treat something that’s not a problem?” James asked, looking like a cat that got the canary. “So what do you say to dinner?”

“I say…” Quinn bent over and gave him a light kiss on the lips. “… that you need to eat something light and go to bed. Because as much as I’d love to have a romantic night out, I’m not up to stealing a wheelchair from the local hospital, and you’re more than an idiot if you think I’d let you attempt walking.”

James made a frustrated noise which Quinn silenced with another kiss.

“And if you go without protests, I’ll be in the bed with you in twenty minutes and maybe you’ll get a nice blowjob for your troubles, OK?”

That seemed like a good deal for James, so he let Quinn go make him dinner.

“They have amazing bread here,” Quinn called from the kitchen. “I swear it’s like clouds wrapped up in…”

He was abruptly interrupted by loud beeping from his computers – all three simultaneously started playing the distress signal and flashing red screens.

Bond immediately snapped to attention, straightening up in his chair. Quinn came running from the kitchen, knife in hand.

“Code E!” he shouted while charging at the computers. He hastily shut them, flipped them over, and slammed a nearby lying brick on them so many times they looked nothing like a computer. The beeping stopped.

James reached for his guns, ever present, just as Eve ran into the house.

“They’re here!” she shouted, pulling her gun out. “Three cars, north of the wall.”

“Time?” James asked. Quinn was on his phone.

“Seven minutes, tops,” Eve replied. “We need to move, _now_!”

“A car is waiting on us,” Quinn said just as an engine started in the distance and he lowered his phone. “Help me with him,” he motioned to James and they both took him by the shoulder and dragged him outside to the parked Volvo.

“No, front!” Quinn said when Eve tried to open the back door for them, and she frowned at him questioningly but didn’t have the time to argue. Once James was sitting in the passenger seat and Eve moved towards the driver’s seat, Quinn pulled the gun on her.

He had it on him all the time now. At first having a gun in his trousers seemed like the worst idea he ever had, but he made it work, and he got used to the weight and coldness of it, as if the metal never heated up, instead chilled everything around it. But when the MI6 was after you, you needed a gun.

When they went rouge, they knew they would be a target. MI6 did horrible things in the name of Queen and country, but they had a lot of people doing lot of paperwork to justify it. Anyone else who did the same but didn’t have a name to hide behind was an enemy of the state and a disruptive force. James Bond going rogue would have been a disaster. James Bond and the Quartermaster going rogue was a code red emergency.

Eve stood frozen, staring at Quinn, at the barrel of his gun aimed precisely between her eyes, stunned. His hand didn’t even tremble.

“Quinn?” she asked, confused. “Quinn!” she repeated after he didn’t lower the gun.

“You were good,” he said finally. “Just not good enough to fool me.”

“What do you mean?” she demanded. A faint sound of a gate opening reached her ears, and then car engines and wheels on gravel coming closer and closer.

“I would have trusted you if you pushed back,” Quinn said. “If you fought when we pushed you around. You made a mistake of not being a little bitchy,” he made a step closer, the gun touching Eve’s forehead, and then pushed so she had to walk back to let him through and around the car.

“You’re making a mistake, Quinn!” she said, but tried to reach into the back of her trousers as he looked down to open the door of the car. She came out empty.

“Looking for this?” James asked and she snapped her eyes to him to see he had a third gun in his hand, waving it like a teacher who caught a pupil with a cigarette. “You know, field work isn’t for everyone.”

With that, the car roared and drove off with all the speed of a modified V8 engine, swirling through the forest and around the trees like it was made for it.

Eve cursed loudly, taking out her phone and dialling a number.

“Don’t stop,” she said angrily to the receiver. “They’re gone. North-east of the base, aimed with four guns, fully loaded… scratch that,” she cursed again. “Probably a whole arsenal. They knew. They prepared.”

She hung up after that, just as the cars reached the base.

“I’m sorry, Quinn,” she said, fully aware he would never forgive her after that.

***

They won the car chase that followed. It made Quinn unbearably smug and James grumpy. Quinn didn’t blame him – after ten minutes of driving through a forest conveniently located on a hill, James’ leg must have hurt like crazy.

They shook their government pursuers in a tunnel that was supposedly closed but which James cleared on the first day. That was one of the things they did and didn’t tell Eve about – they always, _always_ found a way out of the city that seemed impossible for anyone else.

It wasn’t that they didn’t trust Eve at all. At the beginning, they were wary, but she gained their trust. Even now, Quinn was pretty sure she wasn’t with MI6 the whole time. She was probably caught and gave them up, or she went to them when her ideals were shattered – after all, they weren’t saint, they didn’t do more good than MI6, they just tied the loose ends. It wasn’t unheard of for her to betray them.

All their safe houses were compromised, apart from one – the only one that had no trace because James bought it with cash and only cycled there from the nearest city, therefore tracking him was completely impossible unless someone followed him personally. It was in Germany, in the most picturesque Bavarian village where agriculture was still the main source of income. The local police had three members and one car. It was heaven for anyone like James and hell for anyone like Quinn.

Fortunately, he had his own internet connection – a personal hotspot he set up himself, tied to no company.

The house – a cottage, really – was by the river, on the edge of a clearing – Quinn never saw anything like it in real life. It even had a little water mill in the garden. Well, garden – the part of the surrounding nature that had a fence around it and was therefore theirs. Quinn could imagine how beautiful it could be if someone took care of it, with different flowers growing by the wall, maybe one of those plants that crawl up the wall…

“I could imagine living like this,” Quinn said.

James looked up at him from where he lay in the grass, squinting into the sun because his expensive Ray Bans were left behind when they fledPrague.

“Really?” he asked and Quinn could hear something more in his tone beyond casual curiosity.

“Yes. Maybe when we’re sixty, if we ever live to be that old,” he smirked sadly, knowing that that was all in the stars. “I could imagine us retiring here. When we’re really old and tired.”

James hummed, looking up, watching the clouds swim across the blue sky.

“Maybe not all the time, though,” Quinn sat down next to him. “I mean it’s gorgeous and all, but it’s not… well, it’s not London.”

James nodded.

“What do you say we take a few weeks off now?” James asked, still cloud watching.

“We have work to do, James,” Quinn shook his head although the idea was very tempting. They didn’t have a day off… well, ever. Quinn felt like the last day of rest he had with James was when they were boys.

“We will always have work to do, Quinn,” James argued, looking at his partner. “There will not be a moment when we couldn’t be working, but that doesn’t mean we have to do that work. We chose to do it. We can take a break from it.”

“And while we’re taking a break, we let more and more people die, children suffer…”

“Quinn,” James hugged the dark haired man around the waist and pulled him closer. “Stop thinking about it that way. We’re not saviours. We can’t save everyone. Look at me,” he waited until Quinn looked him in the eyes, obviously not happy. “I know it’s a heady feeling,” James continued. “I know saving people feels good. But you need to realize that you can’t save everyone. You shouldn’t. It’s not your responsibility.”

Quinn gave him a little sad, unconvinced smile.

“I know,” he said. “It just dawns on me. Every single time we succeed. That it didn’t take that much to save someone’s life.”

James tugged at his partner’s hip and the younger man took it as the invitation it was and lay down next to him, curling his body against James’. It was close to an instinct to do so, after such a long time of sharing the man’s space.

“I think this vacation will do you good,” James said, kissing Quinn’s hair.

“So we’re taking a vacation?” Quinn raised his eyebrows. “Good to know I have such an influence in this relationship.”

James smirked. “You are just shit at bargaining with me.”

Quinn scoffed, knowing very well that if he put his mind into it, he could make James do anything for him. But he wouldn’t say that out loud. Even though they both knew it.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said instead. “You need to rest your old bones after all. I should go get you a hot water bottle and some painkillers. Maybe a cane…”

Suddenly he was being flipped and pushed onto his stomach, so quickly his last words were buried in the grass, just before his head was yanked up by his hair. James’ whole weight rested on his body. Quinn shivered all over.

“I think you’re forgetting I’m more deadly injured than you are with a flame thrower,” James growled into his ear and if Quinn didn’t know he must be in pain, he’d never guess the older man had a bullet wound in his thigh.

Quinn felt himself growing hard.

“Trust me,” Quinn gasped. “I never forget that.”

James tugged at his hair until Quinn’s forehead was pressed to the ground to nose under his hair, and then bit down into his long neck. Quinn made a whining sound and tried to buck his hips.

“Good,” James smirked and licked the spot he bit. “Because the only thing you’ll be buying is lube and whiskey.”

He rolled off of him and made sure that Quinn didn’t see him wincing.

The younger man stayed where he was, just slightly out of breath, and James had to stifle laughter to remain in character.

“Quinn,” he urged him after a minute. “Lube.”

Quinn huffed and pushed himself up.

“We have some in the car,” he said and ran off. James used his solitude to laugh, earnestly, freely.

Two years together made him absolutely, completely sure that Quinn was the person he hoped Vesper to be. And the longer they stayed together, the more he understood that what he thought he had with Vesper was just a ghost of what he had with Quinn. Maybe that was the reason why he fell in love with her so quickly – she reminded him of him and it made him forget that not every dark haired braniac was trustworthy. It wasn’t Vesper he wanted. It was Quinn. Always Quinn.

That was also why he was so eager to leave MI6 with her. Because he would leave for Quinn in a heartbeat.

At first, when they left, there was a lot of bitterness between them. Quinn felt a lot of pain still, and James didn’t blame him – he left him at the worst time in Quinn’s life for his own selfish reasons, and things like that couldn’t be easily forgiven. But they worked through it, and after a few months James realized Quinn became his confidant, just as he used to be when they were younger. Quinn became what James thought he’d never have. Someone he could trust.

Now, almost three years later, there wasn’t much they didn’t share.

“Don’t move,” Quinn mumbled absentmindedly as the blade of the straight razor scraped over that spot where a bit of pressure could kill James in seconds.

After every swipe over skin, the razor dipped inside the bowl between his kneeling legs. The water was quickly becoming foamy, soap creating swirly film on the surface.

James sat in a comfortable armchair in the corner of the small living room, the lit fireplace the only source of light, making it so much harder for Quinn to shave him without any bloody incidents. The younger man knelt between his outstretched legs, pushing himself up on his knees to better reach while James could lean against the backrest.

“Don’t act like a bit of blood wouldn’t excite you,” James mumbled just as Quinn shaved the right side of his jaw.

“Stop talking,” Quinn looked him in the eyes to show how serious he was. Then he dipped the razor again and moved to the other side of the jaw. “And I don’t know when I gave you the impression that I had a killing kink.”

The next swipe was right over James’ Adam’s apple.

“Well, there is always room for exploration,” James said while Quinn dipped the blade, just before it was pressed against his cheek to clear a last missed spot.

“I only have one kink you don’t know about, James, and this isn’t it,” he said and wiped the older man’s face with the towel he’d had around his neck until then.

“Hmmm,” James hummed into the warm fabric. “Challenge accepted.”

Quinn pushed himself even higher up to reach James’ mouth, and gave him a slow, languid kiss.

“I have to admit I wasn’t so sold on the idea of getting rid of that glorious stubble you had going there, but now I’m glad I went through with it,” he mumbled when they parted.

“So a shaving kink after all?” James raised one eyebrow at him.

“Not a kink, more like a… appreciation,” Quinn said and gave him another kiss. “And it _is_ nicer to kiss you this way.”

He planted his next kiss against the newly shaven jaw bone, then let his lips travel all the way down James’ neck and onto his collar bone.

“Hmm,” he purred into James’ skin. “Yes, very nice to kiss.”

James just hummed in agreement, leaning back and enjoying the attention.

“I wonder what it would feel like if you were this smooth everywhere…” Quinn looked pointedly down which earned him a glare from one of James’ eyes.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“Well,” Quinn smirked. “You were the one who gave me a razor.”

“And I’ll be the one who’ll wax your balls with duct tape if you wave it around mine,” James threatened him.

“Is that a promise?” Quinn’s smirk grew even wider. “Because that’s really not the way to threaten me, you know that.”

James chuckled low in his throat and closed his eyes again.

“Tidy up after yourself,” he said, his voice just a smidge more serious but Quinn responded to it immediately. “And when you come back, you can kneel for me for a while.”

“Yes, sir,” Quinn said with another smirk that clearly meant he would be submissive for as long as he decided he liked the game.

Even though they both knew that if James pushed, Quinn would always fold like an origami sculpture. For James, Quinn was an open book, and he knew every single pressure point, and how and when to press them to get the best result.

When he came back, he knelt between James’ feet again, this time sitting back on his heels and making himself comfortable.

James’ hand immediately went into his hair and started petting. Quinn’s eyes closed in bliss and he pressed his cheek against James’ knee, on the uninjured side, resting his weary head after a very long day. The hand in his hair was grounding and the way James played with his hair was sending little shivers through his whole body, making his toes curl. James sometimes joked that Quinn would suck at being interrogated because if the captors touched his hair, he would lose it completely and not even realize he’s telling them everything they want to know. Quinn had to admit that was very possible, what with his hair basically being his G spot.

His breath caught when James’ hand became more insistent, going from stroking to pulling and then back to tender touches, just the way Quinn liked it. His breathing was becoming more ragged every minute, turning into panting with every pull, every time James’ hand closed into a fist, his hair trapped very near the scalp.

When James started moving him Quinn was openly gasping, with little moans escaping him now and then. He let James yank his head, move him any way he wanted, and happily buried his face in James’ clothed crotch when the older man pressed his face there.

He could feel the hard outline of James’ length in his trousers and his own erection became even more demanding.

If you asked Quinn what was his favourite activity, he would tell you that hacking and computer work fulfilled him on a level nothing else did, but he would also be thinking of moments like these, and his more primitive brain would always think – yes, you like computers, boffin boy, but let’s be honest, they can’t give you as much pleasure as when James Bond grabs you by the hair and makes you his bitch. Because as much as Quinn prided himself on his intelligence and skill, there was something incredibly raw and vulnerable in him that lusted for pain and submission.

He mouthed at the hard outline of James’ erection, his spit making the fabric wet, while he was pushing himself away from the armrest near James’ injured side and the other was down his trousers, massaging his own hardness. James’ fingernails were scraping his scalp now and Quinn realized the other man was holding onto his consciousness with his last bits of energy.

That made him pull James’ trousers down and swallow him to the base, using every single trick he knew James loved in a quick succession. James reacted by gripping his hair harder again and gasping when Quinn started swallowing, his throat working on the head of James’ penis while his thumb was massaging the space behind his balls.

Still James was tired, injured, and good in bed, which meant it was good five minutes before his breathing picked up and he sprayed Quinn’s throat with his cum. A few moments later, when he came back to Earth, he pulled Quinn up and kissed him hungrily and dirty while stripping his cock just on the side of too hard, making him cum on the armchair cushion and then pushing his head down so Quinn had to lick it while his orgasm was still making him tremble.

Yes, if Quinn would be completely honest, computers could go fuck themselves, this was when he was happiest.

He was still panting when he looked up at his lover.

“Fuck, James,” he sighed. James just smiled.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

They didn’t remember getting to bed, and Quinn was surprised they even made it when he woke up the next morning.

***

He woke up to a rustling of sheets and the safety of a gun being pulled.

Years of sleeping next to James made his sleep almost as thin as his partner’s, and the sound of danger was burned into his brain in a way only few people in the world suffered from. He was painfully aware of his surroundings, and that there was someone alien in the room.

“I come in peace,” Eve’s voice cut through the silence of the house – almost whispered, but still deafening when spoken in what was easily the most peaceful place on Earth.

“Good,” James growled next to him. “You can die in peace.”

“James, please,” Quinn opened one eye to see her holding her arms up in surrender. Only the moonlight shining through the window was illuminating her. He couldn’t tell if she was armed. “They don’t want you dead. They want you to come back. Both of you.”

“They?” James articulated mockingly.

“We,” she admitted.

The way James slept with his gun, Quinn learned to sleep with a phone under his pillow. It was apparently unhealthy and would cause him a brain tumour one day, but with how his life was going so far, he very much doubted he’d have the time to grow a tumour before having his brains blown out.

Now he had only his phone and the car to use for their escape, as everything else was left in Prague, and what was in the car wouldn’t work here in the nature.

“Listen to me,” Eve continued. “If they wanted to kill you, they would have done it a long ago. I could have done it. Why do you think I was with you so long? Why do you think I told them where you were only in Prague? After all this time?” then, as if by the way, she added: “Q, whatever you’re doing, it won’t work.”

Q deflated like a balloon. James moved next to him and he knew he was judging him.

“You need to work on stealth,” James told him exasperatedly.

“Have you ever tried to type on a touchscreen that’s _under a pillow_?” Q retorted, sitting up. He sat up and stared at Eve with a look close to that of a petulant child.

“We have had satellites watching you ever since you left the building when you quit,” Eve said when it was clear they were focusing their undivided attention at her. “If we wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

“Then why aren’t we?” James asked the obvious question, his tone almost bored. Eve sighed, knowing she will have to spell out what they all already knew.

“Because having the two of you doing our job without having to jump through bureaucratic hoops first was… very beneficial,” she admitted. Then, a bit more sharply: “Could you please stop pointing the gun at me?”

James made a face like he was considering it, but then said: “Nah. I quite like doing it.”

Quinn rolled his eyes and took the gun from James’ grip. There was no resistance, not when it came to Quinn.

“Oi,” James said nonetheless. “That merits a punishment.”

Quinn put the gun on the nightstand. “Good. But let Eve finish first, unless you want to punish her and whoever is listening in. Hi M!” he smiled widely at Eve. The tension in the room was slowly disappearing.

“No one’s listening,” Eve promised. “And it’s not like I haven’t heard you two before,” she added with a soured expression. The two men just grinned like children caught at the most awesomest prank.

“So,” James sobered up after a few moments. “If we were so beneficial, why are we suddenly being chased across Europe? Why not just stay undercover like the good babysitter you were being?”

To this, Eve, surprisingly, turned to Quinn. The young man squirmed, avoiding both of their eyes as James followed Eve’s example.

“I might have been a bit aggressive when I hacked six the last time,” he admitted to the duvet. “And then M messaged me.”

James froze.

“She did what?” he gritted between clenched teeth.

“It wasn’t a big deal, she sent an encrypted message, a threat that if we don’t pull back from Prague, we’ll be hunted down.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” James’ voice was positively murderous. Quinn hoped he didn’t have another gun hidden under the bed. He wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“I was afraid you’d do something stupid to get back at her,” Quinn admitted with a wince. James growled.

“You are going to be black and blue when my leg gets better,” he warned gravely. Quinn shivered. He didn’t even know if because of fear or arousal.

“Please, boys,” Eve pulled their attention back at herself. “That meeting in Prague was long awaited. We had agents inside the operation. We were ready to strike. I’m not saying what you did wasn’t a good thing,” she quickly added. “But in the long run, maybe keeping them alive…”

“Maybe keeping them alive would have been exactly the kind of bullshit we left at Six!” James interrupted her angrily. “And if I remember correctly, you’ve ben a part of that operation. How come you didn’t stop it if it was so important?”

“I was keeping up appearances,” Eve’s voice was nearing its breaking point, and Quinn knew that Eve didn’t lose her patience easily. This was getting to her.

“You were agreeing with us,” Quinn suddenly said. It all seemed clear to him now. Eve might have been with Six the whole time, but she must have liked what they did for the world. She just couldn’t lose the stability of her job.

When Eve didn’t fight them, his words were more than confirmed – she didn’t even try to deny it.

“There are ways of doing what you do… what we do. That involve Six,” she said after a while. James snorted.

“Get to the blackmailing,” he prompted her. Quinn smirked. Eve had to have something that would make them join forces with the MI6 again. There was no way they would do it without being pressed – working with Six would completely destroy everything they worked for. Gone would be the days of complete independency. Gone would be immediate action with little consequences, and picking their own targets. Six would take over them like Starbucks over some little local café.

“Alright,” Eve obviously gave up. “We have absolute power over you. Satellites are on you twenty four seven. You either do it or you’re done and in jail for treason.”

James let out a deep sigh and rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Tell M we’ll speak to her in three weeks. After we’ve had a proper holiday.”

She nodded curtly.

“Now if you don’t mind…” he gestured towards the door. She left, clearly annoyed at how the meeting went.

When the door closed, they slid lower into their warm spots in the pillows and their hands met. Q’s hand immediately started a silent morse code on James’ palm.

‘Back to MI6?’ he asked. James thought about it for a while and then responded in the same way, knowing that Eve must have several bugs on them.

‘Are you up to disabling the satellites from your phone untracked and then a hike through the mountains?’

Q was silent for a while, then started tapping.

‘In three weeks I might be.’

James just nodded and gave him a sweet kiss on the forehead.

“Good night, Quinn,” he rasped before his breathing evened out. Quinn supposed he must have been absolutely exhausted.

“Good night, love,” he answered before falling to sweet oblivion himself.


End file.
